


In My Head There's A War

by empathalitis, timeandteacups



Series: Ends, Ways, Means & Risk [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dubcon Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Intoxication, Kissing, M/M, Post TWOTL, Post-Season/Series 03, drunken kisses, dubcon touching, mild dubcon, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empathalitis/pseuds/empathalitis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeandteacups/pseuds/timeandteacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after killing Dolarhyde and escaping alongside Hannibal, Will is still plagued with debilitating guilt over those he left behind – including his wife and young stepson. Old memories haunt him, and he drinks to forget his emotional pain. Though he loves him, Will struggles to let Hannibal get too close... Until one night, when he's too intoxicated to stay away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Head There's A War

**Author's Note:**

> This is our fic for the Drunken Kisses Challenge by [Hannibal Cre-ate-ive](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/). Please read the tags!

Their wounds close, skin pulling together, forming tender scars. With bodies at rest fractures mend, once-sore bruises cease to sting and new tissue grows to make them whole again. The process of physical healing was a strenuous one – itching scabs and the ache of stiff joints – but for Will the damage went much deeper. Both painful and lasting, he isn't sure if the invisible injuries he bore would ever be repaired.

He knows it isn't good for him. Knows it only puts him at risk, but the slow burn of whiskey down his throat is a comfort. Now that he's off the pain meds Will grows accustomed to drinking himself to sleep most nights – tucked away inside Hannibal’s modern Buenos Aires hideaway, brain numbed and thoughts quieted.

Tonight, his supply runs dry.

Will downs the remaining dredges of alcohol in his glass, tipping it back until the very last drop hits his tongue. He no longer feels the sharp bite of liquor against the inside of his cheek, and finds himself grateful for the absence of infection and extensive scarring. Hannibal was to thank for that.

Bottle in hand, Will leaves behind the dark seclusion of his bedroom, stumbling down the dimly lit hallway. He braces a hand against the wall to steady himself; clings to the cool steel handrail as he makes his way downstairs. It's a miracle Will doesn't trip and tumble down the steps. Hannibal is there when he staggers into the living room, and he lifts his head from his pad of paper, slowly lays down his pencil as Will approaches.

The liquor keeps him from feeling – doubt, fear, guilt, uncertainty. Will needs it to keep his demons at bay, though he knows he’ll never escape Hannibal. Doesn't want to. It's despicably selfish.

"M'out of whiskey," Will murmurs, and he sets the empty bottle on the table. It falls over with a loud clatter. He feels warm, nearly feverish, but knows it's just the alcohol. Will brings a hand to the humid skin of his nape. "N-Not picky, I just... Need _something_. Wine’s… Wine s'fine."

Hannibal stands up and moves toward him, leaves his sketchpad on the table as he draws closer. The incomplete drawing is of Will, asleep, his visage fair and serene. It's exactly as Hannibal sees him every night, when he enters his bedroom to check that Will’s still breathing; that he's comfortable and safe. Will never notices his presence, too drunk to stir so easily... But Hannibal always sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through Will’s hair, studies his face that only softens with the gentle, quiet calm of sleep. Getting drunk is the only way Will can cope with the reality of what he's done, what he's chosen. Hannibal knows he needs time, but he would be lying if he said it didn't hurt.

“It's time to stop, Will,” Hannibal says softly, standing in front of him. He reaches for Will's hand, caresses it with his thumb as he holds it. Hannibal wants more, wants to kiss him, hold him, but he knows Will won't allow it yet. “I think you've had enough for tonight.”

"You making desh— _deci_ sions for me now?" Will slurs, but it isn't an accusation. He avoids meeting Hannibal’s gaze, sure he must look a mess, hair ruffled and eyes glassy. The smell of hard liquor permeates everything, and Will knows he stinks of it, that it must be oozing from his pores. He wonders how Hannibal can stand to be near him.

The delicate sketch resting on the table catches Will's attention, and he glances down to see his own likeness etched in graphite. The flush of his skin deepens, and he feels Hannibal's love, bright and burning, like a torch inside his chest. More guilt washes over him, but it never stifles the flame.

"Just... A lil' more," Will insists. He tries to pull away from Hannibal, but he's too weak to put much effort into it. Defeated, he leans forward instead, rests his forehead against Hannibal's shoulder. Will's heart is racing – he's in love with this man, knows Hannibal feels the same, but there's just too much holding him back. Too much he can't forgive himself for. His life with Hannibal has been full of longing, more than ever now that they're so close.

Hannibal rests a hand on Will's waist, the other on his back. He's surprised that Will lets him do it this time, lets him pull him closer. The scent of ethanol is harsh and heavy in his nostrils, but it hardly matters when Hannibal is holding Will this close. It’s the closest they’ve been since the night they killed Dolarhyde.

“That's not what you need, Will.” Hannibal's voice is low, gentle. He understands why Will drinks, but he knows that what Will truly needs is to accept his own feelings. To let go of his guilt and break free from the shackles of his past. Pushing his luck, Hannibal leans in, pressing his lips to Will's neck, just below his ear. The soft kiss makes Will gasp, but he doesn't pull away.

“Come with me,” Hannibal says, shifting to wrap an arm firmly around Will. “Time to go to bed.”

On shaky legs, Will lets himself be guided back upstairs and into the stillness of his room. Hannibal undresses him slowly, undoing buttons with nimble fingers and pulling garments carefully from his body, one-by-one. It's very intimate. Will doesn't protest, but he watches Hannibal watching him – sees his eyes wander, taking him in like it's the very first time. Will knows it isn't, knows he's done this on many occasions, seen him bare and vulnerable… But Hannibal still seems captivated.

He's being helped into a cozy pair of flannel pajamas when Will’s guilty conscience strikes again, another wave of battering, unbidden thoughts. Molly had done this for him during their first few weeks together, back when he drank just to keep his mind off of Hannibal. She’d spent so many nights talking quietly to him until he fell asleep. Will wondered what she and Walter were doing now, where they were. Wondered if they wondered about him, too. His vision blurs, eyes wet, and Hannibal rests his hand on Will's shoulder.

"Feels like I'm hemorr—" Will tries, and fails. He falls back against the mattress and out of Hannibal's reach, shirt only half-buttoned. "Like I'm _hem-orr-hag-ing. Hemorrhaging._ Not my… Not my body, but my..." He trails off, brings a hand to rest over his heart. Will's eyes slip closed as Hannibal moves to sit beside him. They crack open again with some difficulty, and he realizes just how tired he really is.

Hannibal reaches for the bedsheets, pulls them up to cover Will’s body. He knows Will will fall asleep soon, and part of him wants to stay, to keep him company until he does. He touches the hand that’s resting on Will’s chest with his fingertips, waiting for Will to push him away. He doesn’t. Hannibal covers Will’s hand with his own, looking into half-lidded eyes.

“You need to talk about them. Your feelings,” he says, his fingers brushing over Will’s. It’s not enough, but Hannibal will take anything Will wants to give him. As long as he stays. Will opens his mouth as if to speak, but Hannibal interrupts him. “When you’re sober.”

Hannibal leans in, gently pulling Will’s hand down, and finishes buttoning his shirt. He can feel Will’s gaze on him. “Giving voice to what’s on your mind will make it easier to face. You’ll feel better,” Hannibal says softly, then stays silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. He places his own hand on Will’s chest now, feeling his heart beating against his palm, the warmth of Will’s skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. “You should sleep now, Will.”

Will nods his head in an exaggerated fashion, hair rustling against the pillow. " _Han_ nibal," he drawls, and he knows Hannibal can feel how his heart is pounding. Can probably hear it thudding away inside him. Will breathes and gathers himself, tries to be as coherent as possible. "Just… Don't..."

Hannibal's so close he can feel the heat of his breath against his face. Will licks his lips nervously, his stomach in knots – but he reaches for him, hand sliding to the back of Hannibal's neck. "Don't go," Will whispers, and he cups Hannibal's nape, pulls him down to capture unsuspecting lips parted in surprise.

Will licks shamelessly into the warmth of Hannibal’s mouth, letting him savor the flavor of bourbon, warm and smokey-sweet. The taste of oak and rich vanilla still lingering on his tongue.

Even though this is not the way he imagined their first kiss would be, Hannibal melts into it, caressing Will's tongue with his own and sucking on it gently as Will's heart races against his hand.

“Will,” Hannibal murmurs his name against his lips, but Will claims his mouth again, messy and uncoordinated, and Hannibal wonders if Will will remember any of this in the morning. Hannibal bites Will's bottom lip softly, holds it between his teeth and tugs before letting go.

Will lets him pull back this time, and they breathe into each other, Hannibal’s palm still pressed against Will's chest. He closes his eyes and breathes in, still able to detect Will's smell under the hard liquor. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks. “What do you need, Will?”

The question makes Will shudder – the way Hannibal breathes it, the tinge of desire in his tone. He swallows hard and hopes he's not imagining it. His blood is molten, the bourbon makes his skin tingle… And Hannibal's hand on him has Will feeling all sorts of things. Instead of answering his mouth finds Hannibal's again, eager for the slick, hot slide of their tongues. It's sloppy and Will groans; feels himself throb with need. He breaks the kiss to pant into the air, body both exhausted and aroused.

"Touch me," Will mumbles, eyelids heavy. He circles Hannibal's wrist, drags his hand from his chest – from over Will's thumping heart and underneath the sheets – down to his mostly flaccid cock. " _Here…_ "

Hannibal gasps, hand immediately cupping him through the softness of his pants with a light touch. Will presses his hand down harder, needing more friction, shifting his hips slightly.

“Will…” Hannibal is breathing heavily against Will's mouth, his own cock hardening as he touches Will's. “You're drunk,” he says, trying to convince Will that they shouldn't do this. Trying to convince himself.

Will pulls him down for another kiss, dismissing his words completely, tongue delving into Hannibal's mouth with a weak moan. The kiss is slower this time, his grip on Hannibal's wrist and nape not as strong as before. He'd had too much to drink to stay awake much longer. Hannibal's hand moves slowly over Will's cock as he reciprocates.

Will hums in agreement, muffled by the tempting strokes of Hannibal's tongue, the slow glide of his lips. Will's mouth begins to go slack, hand slipping from Hannibal's nape to fall limply to his side. His breathing deepens and slows, and Will fights to stay awake, to respond to the stimulation, the pleasure of Hannibal's hand on him... But soon he's being dragged into unconsciousness, gradually lost to the pull of sleep.

Hannibal sighs against Will’s lips. He sits up straight, adjusts the linens around Will’s body. He doesn’t expect him to remember tonight after sleeping off his inebriation. Doesn’t expect him to talk about it – but Hannibal is happy that it happened. That some part of Will wanted this, however meek and uncertain. Leaning in, he presses a kiss to Will’s forehead, then stands and strides toward the door. He hesitates a moment, turning to look at Will again. Hannibal takes his leave with a heavy sigh, keeping the door open just a crack.


End file.
